


A Pinch of Sugar

by HeraNightShade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Spoilers, The Abominable Bride, The Abominable Bride Coda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeraNightShade/pseuds/HeraNightShade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place immediately after Abominable Bride, Mary worries that having Sherlock back in the picture will be the death of John. Meanwhile, Sherlock finds out some devastating news, and decides to tell John in a way only he can pull off. This leads to John and Sherlock having to take on an entirely new and previously unseen threat and make choices they may come to regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom, but after the Special, I got so into it that I guess this just poured out. I'm American, and I don't have a beta, so if it's not perfectly British, I apologize now. Please enjoy :)

“I always knew that man was crazy, I just wasn’t aware of how far he’s fallen,” Mary comments as she stirs her tea idly, sometime after her, Sherlock, and John split up. Sherlock had a way of rubbing people the wrong way and leaving John to tidy everything up. Whether it be assuring Mrs. Hudson that she’s more than a landlady, or cleaning up the human body parts rotting in the microwave, he was always there to bail the younger man out. 

“You know him,” John replies candidly, leafing through the notebook Sherlock insisted he now needed to take notes in. Something about his Mind Palace and how he needs John in top shape if he’s to push Moriarty off the ledge. Which, with his apparently “above-average intelligence,” a direct quote from the younger Holmes brother himself, needed to take up more of his brain than the impressively verbatim dialogue in his, ahem, blogs. Not journals.

“He just needs to run a few dozen experiments and he’ll be back to his old self in no time.” He wasn’t about to mention how worried he was about the drugs Sherlock took or how horrifying it was standing over his unmoving body as Mary and Mycroft kept trying to talk John into pumping his stomach right then and there. No. He barely eats now as it is.

John sets the notebook off to the side as he pours himself a cup, going to get the cup of sugar which wasn’t out as of yet. Mary didn’t take sugar in her tea.

“He’s going to get you killed one day with those games of his,” Mary states coldly, finally looking up from the half-empty cup of tea. She was an assassin in a former life, back when her name didn’t matter and the familiar grip of her favorite gun was the only thing to get her through the night. Now, she’s almost unsure of how to feel. How to love the man who has given her a second chance… though she’s certain it’s only because of the child. Only the child.

John stops, sugar spoon held frozen in the air as some granules seem to be falling in almost slow motion. He wrinkles his brow, pondering over this statement he must have heard hundreds of times, whether it be from Lestrade, Mycroft, Donovon, Harry, army buddies, even random interviewers he’d never met before. He knew he was going to die someday. Probably because of some miscalculation on his part—he already was on his second life anyway. That bullet should have killed him years ago. Should have sent him to wherever the hell people go after killing some and saving some and then killing some more. But he got a second chance, and he was damn well going to make the most of it.

“If I got another brain cell every time I heard that, I’d be smarter than Sherlock,” he finally says, a hard smile pulling on the edges of his lips before he gives up and pours the rest of his spoonful of sugar into the teacup. 

“You don’t need to be smarter than him, John,” she immediately replies, setting her tea off to the side as she tries to meet John’s eyes, but repeatedly fails in doing so. With a huff, she stands, glaring at the side of her husband’s head as fire creeps into her tone, “You are so much smarter than you act around him! Why do you pretend to be, for no better term, an idiot around him? You graduated first in your class for Christ’s sake!” 

John’s grip on the spoon tightens, some odd question Sherlock asked him just before he left on some supposedly important tangent coming to mind. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Wats-John. Just by pure curiosity, and by no means would I ask you to actually do so in testing the theory, would you happen to be able to break every bone in a human’s body while naming them?” Sherlock asks, quickly glancing up at John before looking back through the microscope containing some kind of sample he insisted was important to check out while both John and Mary were there together.

John pauses for a tenth of a second, just enough for Sherlock to take note of it, but not enough for Mary, who’s currently across the room talking to Molly, to take any kind of precaution against it. However, the morbid glee present in his eyes almost mirrors that of Sherlock’s every time he gets a 10. 

“I happen to have gone to medical school, Sherlock! Of course I know every single bone in a human’s body! And if you don’t want me to, then why do you ask?” John crosses his arms, glancing around at the familiar tools that he could no doubt use if Sherlock just finally asked him to. He was more than just the gun. He, by even Sherlock’s standards, was quite intelligent. However, the question, which seems to come out of nowhere from the younger man, makes him think about that one time in Afghani… nope. Not going to go there. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock hides a smile as he keeps his head down, but of course, he notices John’s pause. 

John was going to reply much more freely until he remembered his (former?) assassin wife was in the room. Also, John obviously realizes that it’s not just pure curiosity—he really is beginning to learn. 

However, he’s going to need to ponder this reality at a later time. Sherlock pushes the microscope away and flings his scarf across the room dramatically, “Just a rogue thought I had, dea-John. No need to concern yourself with when Moriarty is out there!” His mind was still a bit stiff from the overdose and almost not making it out of his Mind Palace… not to mention his Moriarty’s comment… elope. He glances at John before shaking his head. Not the place nor the time. “I’m off to chase down a lead. Please do keep an eye on your pregnant wife.” With that, he was gone, Belstaff flying behind him like a cape. 

He left his scarf. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“It is not an act, Mary,” he states as calmly as possible, grinding out his wife’s name as the day turned to night turned to early morning. He just got back his best friend, who despite everyone else’s assurances to the contrary, he knew was on a suicide mission from the moment he was told. The added wonderment was an act, but no, he really wasn’t as smart or as clever as the taller man. Though there had been a few times where he could have lent a hand to the world’s only consulting detective to push the case along more quickly, he didn’t want to steal the man’s thunder, as it were. Yes, he saw straight through his best friend’s supposed “sociopathy.” The fact that he knew Sherlock could feel, more strongly than the woman in his home even, was something he would protect with his life because he know the truth would devastate his partner. Thus the dumbing himself down to ensure he doesn’t prey on Sherlock’s own worst fear. The ghosts, if you may. 

“I don’t know what you see in him, John,” Mary finally says, sinking slowly back down to her chair, one hand on her bulging stomach, as a tear escapes from her left eye, “but obviously you’re willing to change your entire life for him, and leave me behind endless times. Do you even see me since he came back?” 

John drops the spoon in the sink and pours out the tea he thought he needed with every British bone in his body, “Of course I see you. I just wish you would take your own advice and realize that I’m not as stupid as everyone believes.” 

Mary pauses for a moment before she realizes what made her need to sit down once again. With a horrified expression, she clutches her stomach, knuckles turning white. She always knew John Watson would be the death of her, just as she knows Sherlock will be the death of her John. She just didn’t realize it would be this soon. 

“I’m not killing you, Mary,” he assures her, setting the tea cup in the sink before unlocking the front door, “Sherlock, please just come in the front door, your theatrics are not needed right now.” His voice is strong, but Sherlock can immediately tell he’s breaking from the inside. But his doctor would never willingly show that to the world. He’s almost as stubborn as Sherlock is.

He really had wanted to give Mary another chance—for the baby. How will he react when I tell him what else I found out? Probably violently. I can almost count on it. Though he will accept it because it’s coming from me. 

“John, you really should have just given me a key months ago. You know how easy it is for me to break and enter,” Sherlock replies with a grin as he subtly puts his pick into his back pocket, practically floats into the room, and then, for some reason, thrusts a bowler hat into John’s hands. 

“What’s this then?” John asks wearily, holding the hat out as if it were a bomb. If there was one thing John learned from his time with Sherlock, it was that nothing is what it seems when he’s around—it almost always had another value or a deeper meaning. What on earth could a bowler hat mean? 

“I just thought you may like it. I have to go around in the deer stalker, so I figured you should have something for people to remember you by as well besides that horrid mustache.” 

“First the notebook, now my own hat? What’s gotten into you?” John asks, tossing the hat on the table as Mary sluggishly sits in her chair, staring into nothing. 

“I simply have come to appreciate your excellent blogging skills,” Sherlock responds as he walks to the kitchen, slides on a rubber glove for once, grabs a pinch of sugar, and inhales deeply. 

“I thought you said you wanted me to focus on more important matters than blogging!” John irritably rebukes his comment as he stalks behind him, “Sherlock, I swear to god, if you die because you snorted the bloody poison, I will put your curiosity to the test on you!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After Sherlock leaves, John notices the scarf still in a heap in the corner of the room. He crinkles his eyebrows at the younger man’s departing comment, but, as Mary and Molly stare at the place where Sherlock just left, John quickly picks it up and stuffs it into his inside coat pocket. 

“John, are you coming? I do believe you’ve been dismissed,” Mary asks, her tone clearly showing her dislike of the way Sherlock just left her husband to go in search of something or another. 

“Yes, dear. Have a good day, Molly,” John waves to Molly before offering an arm to his wife, annoyed with Sherlock because he was just starting to get her to like him. 

When they get home, John offers to make tea, to which Mary lightens up, a bright smile appearing on her lovely face as she agrees. While she goes to freshen up in the loo, John pulls out the scarf, a paper falling from it, and a small vial of a clear liquid carefully wrapped inside. 

Mary will try to poison you. It's in the sugar. Vial isn’t fatal. -SH

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I was right! It is poison! More precisely, it’s—"

“Sherlock! I know you’re right, you’re always bloody right. Now tell me what we’re going to do about my baby!” John points roughly at Mary. He didn’t want to hurt her, even though she did just try to kill him. And he still hadn’t figured out the reason for that yet. All those years he had lived with her, ate her cooking without a second thought, and all of a sudden, she just decides to kill him? It just didn’t make any sense!

Sherlock freezes for a moment, pushing his lips together as he slowly turns around. Now’s the time to do the big reveal, and for the first time, he really doesn’t want to, “You see, John, when I was leaving, Mary thought that she would never fully have you, no matter if I was here or there, because you would never stop looking for me this time,” John looks down slightly, pushing his lips together to affirm Sherlock’s words. If he were to leave again, John wouldn’t rest until he found his best friend, especially since this time, he would know for certain that he is alive. Sherlock continues, “Because of this, she decided to reach out to her last connections of Moriarty’s web, the strings I never untangled, to bring him back from the dead, knowing they would send me back if she did so. There’s always going to be someone to take Moriarty’s place, John, no matter whether he’s dead or alive!”

“Yes, I got that already. I’m wondering why, since she’s so hell-bent on making me love her again, she tried to poison me tonight?! And what are we going to do about my child?” John motions with his hands, clearly agitated as he gazes upon the woman he tried so hard to love again. 

Sherlock looks at John for a moment, wonderment filling him as he realizes his Mind Palace Watson was more real than he realized—his John was more clever than he consciously gave him credit for, and wasn’t that brilliant? 

“I’m getting there! Now, Mary wanted you to consciously choose her over me rather than be forced to live with just her. She intended to bring Moriarty back from the dead in order to make you believe that I care more about Moriarty than I do you!” at this, Sherlock looks almost as if this thought was rancid in just thinking it, let alone voicing it aloud. He shakes his Belstaff, as if wiping away just the thought, “After you left me for her, she was going to stage her birth when you were gone, perhaps send you out of town to be convincing, and get one of Moriarty’s web to fake the baby’s death.” 

“Still haven’t answered why she tried to murder me. And stage her birth? What are you talking about? Mary is pregnant, just look at her!” 

“Yes, she’s pregnant,” Sherlock concedes, much less excited about his performance than before, and that’s saying something seeing as he didn’t want to do it at all in the first place. But he needs to be truthful to John now, now that he’s seen how brilliant his partner could be when he didn’t hold himself back for one reason or the other. And realized how much John really wanted to be on his side. He’d always known his doctor was better than the idiots out there, but never let himself look too closely for fear of ruining his reputation as a sociopath. Though he knew that John saw right through that too, just amped up his unfeelingness for the blog entries to allow Sherlock to be seen the way be wants to be seen. “But the thing is, John, that baby isn’t yours,” he motions to where Mary sits, completely out of it at this point, “it was in the beginning, but Mary had a miscarriage while you were staying with me. She got artificial insemination to get you to go back to her.” 

John blinks a few times, looking between his best friend and who he once thought was the love of his life. Surprisingly, his hands are as steady as when he was in medical school, and his leg is the furthest thing from his mind, “So you’re saying this was all some trick to get me to pick her over you?” His hands form fists as he thinks of the implications. His entire life post-Afghanistan at this point has been twisted and warped due to the two most important people in his life. Neither of them had been fully honest with him, presumably ever, yet he still formed a close bond with both of them. Perhaps he just wasn’t meant to have a truthful, happy relationship in this second life. Maybe that was only going to happen in his first one, the one which ended when he took a bullet to the shoulder. However, there was one of these two people who saved him again tonight.

“Mary was going to give you a non-fatal dose of poison from who she hoped I would believe to be Moriarty, so I would realize the danger you were in, and push you away once again,” Sherlock concludes, regret pouring off of him in waves as he stares at John, letting everything he just said, sink in. 

John nods, “You are quite good at that, aren’t you?” there isn’t just a little resentment in his tone. 

“John, I want you to know that I am only partly telling you this because I want you to be there right beside me as I take down the rest of the web. As I said, there will always be someone else to stand as leader,” Sherlock begins quickly, seeing as it appears John is getting ready to explode with the anger and hurt building within him at the revealed multiple lies his own wife told him, along with the fact he would be poisoned right now if Sherlock hadn’t warned him. 

“And what’s the other part, Sherlock?” John asks, teeth clenched as he appears to want to hit something repeatedly.

“The other part is that you are my best friend, and this time I’m not saying it to drug you, I swear. Somehow, from the first day we met, you saw through my act and always treated me like a person, not a machine,” John winces as he remembers what he accused Sherlock of just before he took the swan dive. However, before John can begin apologizing once again, Sherlock continues, “I am not a sociopath, let alone high-functioning. You’re the reason I’m able to do what I do without getting locked inside my Mind Palace. You, John Watson, throw my ghosts off ledges and laugh at crime scenes with me.” 

John’s expression slowly turns from angry and resentful to awe and some other emotion he doesn’t want to look at right now as Sherlock makes his speech, “You do realize you just admitted you have feelings?” John just realized his wife is a liar who wanted to rip him apart from his best friend and make him believe the child she’s carrying was still his. Though he doesn’t miss the fact that they did, indeed, have a baby at one point that they lost, and she was too selfish in thinking about herself and her own future with the doctor to let him know. To let him grieve. However, due to the fact that Sherlock just admitted what he perceives to be his greatest weakness to John, he believes it deserves his full, undivided attention.

“Yes, I do believe that was the point of the speech,” Sherlock nods, his eyebrows creasing as he goes over the words he just strung together in an attempt to mend the relationship between himself and his blogger. 

“Well then, I promise to keep it between us,” John promises, shaking his head as he glances over at his still prone wife, “So what do we do with her now? Turn her over to Mycroft?”

Sherlock smiles slightly as that cleverness appears once again in his blogger.

He obviously realizes that if we are to continue trying to cut down all the people trying to bring Moriarty’s vision back from the grave, we will need to do so in favor of the detectives, preferably Lestrade. If they found out about John’s relationship with Mary, the new Moriarty, they would automatically stop him from working any case relating to him. He'd be too close.

“Yes, it appears we will have to call my brother for this one. And then you will move back to 221B with me, and we will take care of this madness together. Are we agreed?” Sherlock’s voice is self-assured and steady, but he knows that while he was trapped in his Mind Palace, he could have chosen to take the leap with Moriarty, and it would have led to him waking up all the same. However, this time, he made the unconscious, and now conscious, decision to choose John, who will continue to save him from his own Mind Palace if he just gives him the chance to do so.

John can tell from the blasé way Sherlock speaks that it really does mean everything to him that John agrees and helps guide him toward the light… because Sherlock may be on the side of the angels, but he sure as hell isn’t one. 

John, on the other hand… 

“Yes, of course. Together. May I borrow your phone, Sherlock?” 

The game is on.


	2. The New Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the overwhelming want for this to turn into a multi-chapter fic, here we go. I'm not sure yet exactly how long it will be, but I do have a rough outline of everything that's going to happen. I plan to update once a week, but I make no promises. I am a college student after all! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the second chapter!

The rest of the early morning is spent with Sherlock and John sitting at the table, bowler hat upside down next to John’s hand as Mary sits in the same place she’s been since the vial took hold of her. John continuously glances over at the pregnant woman, gaze focused only on her belly. Sherlock, of course, takes notice of this immediately, but decides to not mention it. John did just find out the baby wasn’t his after all. Where normally Sherlock would run off at this point and leave John to deal with the aftermath, he knows that he cannot this time. It seems everything has changed since his deduction in the plane the day prior. Whether or not it’s for the best is to be determined. 

About half an hour after John called Mycroft, claiming that it was his right to tell the elder Holmes about his own wife, thank you very much, the elder Holmes arrives, a few of his men in tow, with a stretcher, wearing EMT uniforms. Apparently it would be easiest to say that she was having pregnancy difficulties and was sent away to a specialty doctor. She would then be rumored to have had an affair with her doctor, and Mycroft would finalize the divorce papers. John hadn’t been living with her for long enough that his decision to stay would not be questioned, and neither would the divorce. 

His wife would rot in a jail cell for the rest of her and the baby’s life. 

“I must express my utmost condolences on the matter, John. Though I’m certain you and my brother will be moving back in together quite soon,” Mycroft comments, leaning easily on his umbrella as if the situation didn’t matter to him one way or the other. But both John and Sherlock know that it does—for without John happy, his brother isn’t happy. And if Sherlock isn’t happy, then those little projects he enjoys sending him on will never be accepted again. 

“John and I have already spoken of this, brother mine. I assure you we have the matter resolved, so long as you can actually keep this one behind bars,” Sherlock replies coldly, the implied connection to Moriarty sitting heavily in the room, weighing all three of them down. 

“Don’t hurt her,” John says suddenly, his hands forming fists at his sides as he slowly looks up to meet Mycroft’s eyes. He didn’t want anything to happen to the baby, even if it didn’t turn out to be his. He knew the little girl would have a hard enough time never knowing her mother or father—to add some kind of ailment due to torture while she was in the womb was another thing entirely. He had acted as father for months, went to every single doctor appointment even when he wasn’t on speaking terms with Mary. He knew it was time to stand down, as he just couldn’t handle raising a daughter that wasn’t his, without her mother who he didn’t love. Who he couldn’t stand to look in the eye any longer. 

Mycroft stares at John for a moment, his eyes calculating like Sherlock’s, but nothing like them at the same time. While Sherlock looks at John with a hint of adoration and thankfulness, Mycroft looks at him like he would a boring puzzle. One he wouldn’t even bother owning, let alone put together. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft had never been able to appreciate what was underneath the John that was presented to the world. The Watson, if you will. Where Mycroft saw only a man who followed someone brilliant to get a hint of danger and wonderment, Sherlock knew that he had a companion who would take a bullet for him willingly, and was much cleverer than the average man. This was why Mycroft time and time again asked John to take care of his little brother. Because if Sherlock saw something in John, then Mycroft knew that he had to be monumental. Important. Necessary. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Mycroft returns, his eyes falling on Sherlock, obviously wanting the doctor to know who the ‘him’ in his own statement was. The unspoken agreement stands that neither of them shall hurt the other’s weakness so long as the other does the same. Realizing this, Sherlock’s head whips toward his brother, eyes narrowing as he pushes the chair out loudly, letting it fall to the ground behind him. He wasn’t usually quite so jumpy at his brother’s implications, but weaning off an overdose can do that to a person. 

“I do believe your agents have left now. Do try to keep up, I know you’re not in the best shape after all,” Sherlock throws another jab at his widening waistline. He knows that John meant the baby, not Mary. After finding out his entire relationship was a sham and then giving her another chance just to find out the baby was a sham, he can see clearly that John has given up on the mother. Which is still almost strange to him, seeing as Sherlock had been awarded so many second chances it’s pretty much implied by now. 

“As much as I appreciate you worrying about me,” Mycroft says with as much sass and sarcasm as can be put into nine words, “I must warn you that you are being watched, Sherlock. The only reason you have been allowed to live is because of Moriarty’s return, and now that we know it to be a trick, your freedom is undoubtedly in jeopardy.” 

“So you’re saying that if parliament finds out about Mary, they’ll send Sherlock back on the suicide mission?!” John is visibly angry, shoving out of his own chair while he unconsciously takes the bowler hat with him, clutching it in his left hand, acting as almost an anchor to the tall man in the Belstaff. He was not about to let his best friend leave him again, especially this time knowing that he would have to start all over, all over again if he were left behind. He absolutely didn’t want to be left behind once again, so this time, seeing as he didn’t have any reason to stay in London, he would accompany Sherlock wherever he was assigned.

John would also incinerate every drug in London to keep Sherlock alive for the journey there. He had been ready to die since Afghanistan, and dying beside Sherlock would be an even greater honor than Queen and country. It was already decided in John’s head.

“That is precisely what I’m saying. Which is why neither of you can say anything about apprehending Mary until I figure out a way to get them to focus on something that isn’t Sherlock. I also have to find a way to make them believe that Moriarty is still active and that Sherlock is actively trying to hunt him down,” Mycroft seems almost desperate, a rarity for the most powerful man in Britain, as his eyes go between the doctor and his brother. He may have been the British Government, but there were things even he couldn’t do. As shown by the fact that just yesterday, he was forced to send Sherlock on a suicide mission. 

“Well if Sherlock’s theory is true, can’t we just wait for the next person to step up and take Moriarty’s mantle?” John asks, scrunching his eyebrows together. Sherlock eyes the bowler hat still held in his hand, a smile making its way on his face as he noticed the overcoat he gave him on the coat hook earlier also. Along with John’s willingness to go along with Sherlock’s theory, it would seem that he has his John back, the one which never left his side. The one that still believed in him after he both jumped off a building and told him it was all a magic trick. He was finally standing beside him once again.

“That’s the thing, John. I don’t want to have to chase down Moriarty anymore. I don’t want to have to play a corpse’s games,” Sherlock finally cuts in after a few moments of hands-steepled thinking. He had already made his decision to stick with John and not allow Moriarty to rule his life any longer. And the only way to do that was to fully confide in his partner, “I made a conscious decision when the plane landed that I am not going to lie to you any longer about my plans. I admit, I have not always been honest with you. And that’s something that I cannot apologize enough for…”

“Do get on with it, Sherlock. You and the good doctor can continue making amends when this situation is all taken care of,” Mycroft cuts in, obviously not fond of the fact that John and Sherlock will not be keeping secrets any longer. Now that he knows everything he tells his brother will be passed on to John, and vice versa, his hope that John will lift Sherlock up rather than weigh him down raises tenfold. The second he thinks that it is not in Sherlock’s best interest to keep John around, he will send the army doctor to the same kind of cell Mary is being transferred to at this very moment. 

“I was getting there,” Sherlock responds harshly, looking away from John for a mere moment to glare at Mycroft before turning back to him, “John, I know as well as you do that Irene Adler is not in witness protection. However, the truth is that she is also not dead, though she came quite close. I saved her at the last moment and sent her away with a new name and identity.” He looks at John carefully, trying to deduce what, exactly, he is thinking at this reveal. 

He seems to be agitated, but not at me. His eye is twitching, and hand is shaking slightly, but not because of his wound. No, it’s because of anger. Aimed at Mycroft. Oh, yes.

John immediately glares at Mycroft, “You told me to tell him The Woman was in witness protection! And you knew the entire time that you were just making a fool of me! I swear to god, Mycroft, if I didn’t think lightning would strike me as soon as I did it, I would kick your bloody arse!” 

John begins to stalk up to Mycroft, anger making every muscle in his body tense as he seems to rethink what he just said. However, before he gets the chance to do something he’ll no doubt regret, Sherlock rests a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t pull on him, but just lets him know that he is right there with him. John almost immediately stops, the tension slightly lessened but still ready to come back at the drop of a hat. 

“As much as I would love to see you bloody my brother, my revelation was not for nothing. I am telling you this because I want to make Miss Adler the new Moriarty,” Sherlock looks at the other two people in the room, trying to deduce their thoughts on the matter. However, it’s slightly difficult to do when John’s back is towards him. 

Mycroft seems surprised yet intrigued. He will go along with it. He admired Irene’s cleverness when she almost pulled one over on him. To have her on their side would be good for his plans. John, on the other hand, tensed right back up, and will not look at me. He never liked The Woman, and seemed agitated the entire time we were on her case. The way he wrote about her on his blog was nothing short of hateful, but only because he was worried about her effect on me. His attempt to spare my feelings was purely for my benefit, not hers. I can convince him so long as he knows it is important to me. 

“I don’t like it. How do you know you can trust her? Remember what happened the last time she was given power? She almost destroyed Mycroft!” John automatically tries to dissuade him, turning sharply on his heel to level his glare on Sherlock now. 

“Yes, she was quite clever,” Mycroft agrees with an amused smile, looking between the two as they appear to be having a stare-off. Which one will blink first? His money’s on the doctor. 

He would lose the bet. 

“John, you must trust me, we can trust her. I know you dislike her, but she is the best chance we have at the moment. Without someone I can control in the position, the situation will simply escalate and the last five years will have been for nothing!” Sherlock is actually pleading. For once, he is asking John, his moral compass, before striding headfirst into an idiotic situation. 

John narrows his eyes, just staring at Sherlock for a long while until he finally sighs, “Fine, we’ll use The Woman as the new Moriarty. I won’t ask how you know for certain we can trust her—I most probably don’t want to know as it is.” 

“But I thought…” Sherlock begins, his eyebrows pulled together in the perfect expression of confusion. 

“I do want you to be truthful with me. I’m trying to accept your judgement, as skewed as it is. Though the second I think Adler is playing you, I will renege my acceptance of it. I will kill her, Sherlock, and not even you will be able to save her this time,” John promises before finally putting the bowler hat on his head, followed by the navy overcoat Sherlock had gotten him for Christmas. He couldn’t help but think the detective was trying to change his wardrobe… but both items were actually quite his style. “Are we quite done here? I’d rather never have to see the likes of this place ever again.” 

Sherlock accepts John’s threat with a nod, knowing instinctively that he isn’t lying. The man was very overprotective of him, especially after the fall, so he had no doubt he would destroy Irene if she double-crossed them. And he was counting on it. 

When John starts getting ready to leave, Sherlock can’t help drinking in the perfectly tailored overcoat and bowler hat currently being worn by his partner. His lips quirk at the edges as he dramatically walks to the kitchen, picks up the journal he insisted John needed, and gives it back to the shorter man with a flourish, “Nothing would make me happier than being rid of Mycroft.” 

“I am standing right…” Mycroft begins before John interrupts. 

“Fine by me. Goodbye, Mycroft,” John takes the journal from Sherlock, tucks it under his arm, and throws his keys at the older man, who catches them easily.

“Send John his belongings and then vacate the premises. Sell it, put the money in his account,” Sherlock immediately commands his brother, already out the door, though his voice is still able to command the room. 

“Who would have guessed I’d play butler to my little brother and his lackey?” Mycroft mutters, twirling his umbrella as he accepts his fate of doing what needs to be done, looking around the house as John runs after the younger Holmes, his overcoat flying out behind him. The man was beginning to become more and more like his brother, and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing. 

It seems Mycroft couldn’t decide how to perceive John at all. 

~*~*~*~

Once on the street, Sherlock allows John to catch up to him before walking once again. 

They walk in companionable silence for a couple blocks, still getting used to the fact that they are able to do so once again. However, the silence is broken when Sherlock sidesteps in front of John, effectively stopping him, and turns around. 

“I suppose my first question should be how you’re doing, but seeing as I don’t do sentiment, I’m not going to ask,” Sherlock announces, nodding to himself as his expression shows resolve. The after effects of the drugs have finally almost completely worn off. 

“I would expect nothing less from the world’s greatest consulting detective,” John responds immediately, understanding that now that they are out in the open, Sherlock’s confession of feelings cannot be used against him. He still wants to be seen as a high-functioning sociopath by the public, and John will not rob him of that. 

“Very good. Now that that’s out of the way, I’m going to ask what I really wish to. Will you continue to solve the unsolvable cases with me, doctor?” Sherlock asks, eyebrows both raising in anticipation. The first thing he thought when he got off that plane, other than about Moriarty, was whether or not John would continue to accompany him on cases. 

Before today, he was going to be a husband and father, and being out in the line of fire was not something a responsible parent would do, at least that’s what John said. But now, he was back to being a bachelor, if not legally. And he could tell that his best friend still craved danger. Though he did agree to face the madness together, that didn’t necessarily mean he was automatically back for the smaller cases. He could help with Irene and then be done with it all.

John blinks, mouth falling open at the question. He may have told Sherlock that he should quit, but they both knew that he never could. He needed danger in his life like most people needed oxygen. Like Sherlock needed a case. 

“Of course I’m going to. I thought that’s what the past day was about? I told you we are in this together. We already took down the new Moriarty in less than twenty-four hours, we’re ahead of schedule,” John thinks for a moment, forehead scrunching, “Wait… does this mean from now on we’re going to be solving ordinary cases with no relevance to a malevolent leader?” His entire time with Sherlock, they were following the breadcrumbs of Moriarty. Trying to get closer, trying to get ahead of him. Without him, was Sherlock going to get bored of John? Was Moriarty the excitement Sherlock needed, and he only kept John around to help him continue getting the rush that came with solving a case relevant to Moriarty? 

Sherlock could deduce everything John is thinking, taking in his worried expression, eyes fluttering slightly, hands growing clammy. He is thinking completely opposite to how Sherlock feels… how to tell him this? How to tell him that it is Watson, not Moriarty, which keeps him going? 

“John, isn’t that what we wanted?” he remembers John throwing Moriarty off the ledge. The road with John will be filled with light, will be solving cases for the greater good rather than for mental stimulation. Though he knows it still will be stimulating—criminals really are more interesting than everyday citizens, after all. 

“Well yes, but can you honestly tell me that you can live without an overlying puzzle to solve?” John asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His skeptical expression shows Sherlock everything he needs to know. 

“Yes. I can live without Moriarty because I have you, John. So long as I have you, I may still have bad days, but that’ll be it—days. Most of the time with you will be brilliant. I am willing to move on, and I do hope you are as well,” Sherlock declares, a small smile playing on his face as he goes to rest a hand on John’s shoulder as if to tell him they’re truly connected. Together, no case is too difficult. Together, the game is at its most enjoyable. There can no longer be Sherlock without John. 

“Of course I’m willing, ecstatic even. I was just worried about you,” John reveals, glancing at the hand on his shoulder with a small grin. 

“Good. Now, I really must be getting into contact with Irene. She has a web to run after all!” Sherlock proclaims before waving his hand at a taxi that just happens to be driving by at this moment. John never will be able to figure out how the detective is able to do that. 

The duo slides into the cab together, John closing the door behind them. 

“Where to?” the driver asks, looking in his rear-view mirror as his bored tone and expression take over the atmosphere. 

With a large smile and dramatics that quickly overshadow the driver’s tone, Sherlock responds, “The address is 2-2-1-B Baker Street!” 

“And the name’s Sherlock Holmes,” John mutters with a matching smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the second chapter... please let me know if you guys are still interested. The comments and kudos last chapter really inspired me to keep it going, so please keep it up. I like knowing if you guys like where I'm going with things, or if there's something you don't like. Thanks for reading :)


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